Caged

Day 4,180, 15:34 • Published in Ireland Canada • by Amaryllis Bloom

Today is a bad day. Pounding headache. Radio static. The constant -click click-. Jesus I hear them in the silence at home. Maddening ghost clicks. It is the weather. Everything seems dull. Like some one adjusted the contrast and saturation levels. Everything blends in. Making potential danger that much harder to notice. I feel like it is out there. Staring at me. Waiting for me to let my guard down. Is it up? Is this why I always seem to be anxious?

Maybe it is the glass box. This cage. I feel like I am on display. I belong in the shadows. Poised, ready to strike when no one is looking. Sneaking up behind with the serrated blade in my hand. I swear, these thoughts scare me sometimes. Side effect from the bullet or residual from who I used to be? Both are unsettling concepts. I cannot seem to focus on anything today. Erratic images and thoughts flood my brain. So many fragmented files.

*radio static* “Commander are you there? This is not the time to ignore me. Stop pouting and answer me! I am in trouble! Copy?”


My voice. Or did I hear it in my voice because I heard it in my head? Could it be one of my memories? I replay the frantic message over and over in my head. Did they answer? Was this person left to die? I reach up and touch my head at that thought. “Bullet came out of nowhere…”. Could this have been planned? Was I left to die? But they said I was hit diving on a grenade. Did they know I would have given my life to preserve the life of others?

The man. The man with the eyes. The look he gave me at the hospital. Could that have been one of guilt instead of loss? Or perhaps a combination of both? Is this why no one will say anything? Because I was supposed to die that day? I can feel the anger rising inside of me. Cheeks getting crimson red. My heart rate elevating. I need answers. I need to find “Foggy”. I need to know what happened to me. And why.

My hands catch my attention. So many scars, from who knows what. Freckles. A tan line. Faint. On my left ring finger. What the hell? How did I never notice this until now? My head is spinning. I can’t breathe. Who am I? So many questions. I feel sick. I feel like running until there is nothing but fire in my lungs. I need air. I need out of this cage. No, today is definitely a bad day.